


Suffer the Traitor

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Fucked Up, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Prostitution, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mpreg, One Shot, Physical Abuse, Rape, Sadism, Sex During Childbirth/Labour, Slut Shaming, Torture, Tyrant rape, Unbirthing, Urination, Verbal Abuse, birth denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28734303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Sergei isn't pleased when he discovers Nicholai betrayed Umbrella in Racoon City.He sets out to punish him for his treachery.[READ ALL TAGS BEFORE READING THE STORY]
Comments: 20
Kudos: 28





	Suffer the Traitor

"Do you know how much this hurts me?" 

Sergei scoffed, scrubbing a hand across his face. Some blood transferred from his knuckles to his nose, a streak of red painting across his face.

"You don't even understand how much this hurts me!" He was practically whining, "My friend! My comrade! We fought in war together! We shared rations!"

Sergei clutched his chest, as though having difficulty breathing. He was choking back a sob of indignation.

The wheezing on the ground did not concern him as he fought through his own thoughts.

"Do you know how much it hurt to learn from our Lord that my comrade -- _moy tovarishch_ \-- betrayed me? Betrayed **_us_**?" The older man shook his head, "I did not believe him! I did not believe our Lord, I doubted him. I am still ashamed of my doubt!"

Sergei sighed, reaching down to turn a stool that had fallen during the course of the evening after being used as a bludgeon, ignoring the blood dripping from a corner of the edge and sitting.

"But when he showed me that CCTV capture they retrieved from Raccoon... From Bard's office... Well. I could not doubt what was clear. No matter how much it pained me."

Sergei looked down at Nicholai's gurgling, beaten body. He shook his head again, unable to find a single iota of sympathy to provide unto the broken, blackened face. His sadness was with what _had_ been and what _could_ have been, not what was. 

What Nicholai had been his friend. His trusted consort. His comrade.

What Nicholai could have been was a cog in the great, omnipotent deity that was Umbrella. A saviour of his country. A loyal foot soldier to Lord Spencer.

What Nicholai was, was nothing more than a traitor.

And he needed to be punished.

\--

"No anaesthetic, please."

"Sir?"

"He doesn't need it."

The surgeon nodded, unwilling to disobey an order from a commanding executive. He finished tidying up Nicholai's face, tossing what seemed like the millionth blood-red cotton swab into a nearby garbage bin before wiping the swollen flesh down a final time with a wet-wipe. 

In preparation for the surgery, he'd told the Colonel that he needed to tend to the man's other wounds, lest risk an infection. He'd stitched up whatever was split, and cleaned out whatever was filthy, Sergei encouraging him to do the bare minimum to ensure he was clean enough for the procedure about to take place. At one point, Sergei had accused him of being _too_ delicate with the rubbing alcohol, and simply poured the bottle onto one of Nicholai's deep gashes. The man had been unable to do more than gasp and gurgle in agony.

The surgeon cleared his throat and dismounted from his stool, walking over to a nearby sink and scrubbing his hands carefully. As he did, more staff piled into the operating room, two of them wheeling a large cooler that contained the organ they needed to implant in Nicholai's body.

"Strap him down, please." The surgeon instructed to one of his nurses, who immediately complied. Nicholai had been thoroughly weakened by what Sergei had called a _little interrogation_ , but a unsedated-surgery was not the time to risk a hair-trigger flail of pain. 

Sergei demanded to be allowed to stay for the operation.

\--

Nicholai could barely breathe.

Every part of his body ached in a way he didn't know was possible. Not even the rest he'd been allowed to have in the infirmary recovering had put a dent in the pain that reverberated throughout every nerve. He'd never been given painkillers. The first four days had been the worst. The staff told him he'd been there three weeks total, the day they woke him up in anticipation of Sergei's arrival. He'd begged and pleaded for their sympathy -- for them to not to let Sergei take him. But they were Umbrella staff. Even if they had sympathy for him, they had no desire to disobey the company.

Sergei had been harsh with him in their transport back to the facility, forcing him to walk on his own despite his shaky legs and the overwhelming pain he was in. He'd kick him if he didn't move far enough, fast enough. He'd sob and whine when his weak, newly-stitched up, freshly-operated upon body hit the floor. But Sergei didn't care, and would simply grab him by a tuft of his silver hair, jerking him to his feet and forcing him forward once more.

So embroiled in agony, he hadn't known what the operation did to him. What they had taken out or put in. What they had turned him into. 

Even when a hydraulic door opened at Sergei's beckoning, revealing two, fully naked, unsheathed Tyrants standing in wait -- he didn't understand.

Rape, he knew. He wanted to assume he'd simply be raped to death by the beasts, ending his putrid existence. But the fact they'd just preformed a complex surgery on him and given him weeks of recovery sat heavily in his mind. They wouldn't do that, he knew, if they were just going to kill him.

Sergei watched the assault with great fervour, circling the room slowly, hands behind his back, a tiny smirk on his scarred lips.

Nicholai tore and split, when he was entered, blood immediately saturating and lubricating the monstrous cock that roughly thrust its way into his much smaller body. His jaw clicked and cracked as his throat was similarly assailed -- the Tyrants didn't care what kind of hole they were breeding, just that they had one to breed.

Nicholai's muffled screams died down quickly, his body heaving in and out of consciousness, rolling into it before being ripped from it as a new, harder thrust forced the Tyrants into his stomach. His belly roiled and wrenched in ways he'd never felt before, cutting through the pain echoing in every other part of him. It was distinct. 

As he was filled with heavy, thick load after load -- he understood.

\--

Sergei told him he was making himself useful to the company. That he was repaying the debt he'd accumulated in selling off valuable, proprietary combat data.

Nicholai had become numb to his constant chirping. To _all_ of their chirping.

The insults, the prods, the jeers, the jokes, the mockery. The U.S.S agents in particular liked to stand at the door of his cell and sneer at him. They'd always hated him. Now he was an attraction to go and berate on break hours.

" _Damn, is that Zinoviev?! Silver Fox ain't so foxy anymore."_

_"Look at that tummy... he's like a sow!"_

_"Yous hear what he did in Raccoon? Fuckin' nuts."_

_"Hey, Zinoviev -- how were them Tyrant cocks? Big enough for ya'?"_

It wasn't long before outside the cell came inside. He'd stare blankly ahead when they nudged him with the toes of their boots or roughly felt up his ever-stretching belly. He wouldn't flinch when they'd piss on him, or jerk off on his face.

Eventually, they started fucking him.

Eventually, he stopped being able to tell when they were.

Sergei would simply chuckle when he noticed every new layer of filth accumulating on his former junior's body.

\--

Nicholai was forced to bow before Oswell Spencer, though not much force was needed at all to get him into the reverent position.

So broken and beaten, he had been thrown to the floor and landed face-down at the foot of the patriarch's wheelchair. Guards quickly oriented his position, propping his knees up so that his forehead was to the ground, and his back was held up on shaky legs. His massive belly plopped on the floor, almost providing him some stability.

"Do you know what kind of person sells themselves to the highest bidder, boy?" Spencer began to muse, cataract-infected eyes glossily staring out into nothingness. When there was no answer -- as though one was possible through Nicholai's swollen jaw -- Spencer scoffed.

"Sergei?" He redirected the question.

"A whore, Sir." Sergei said, standing a few feet away from Nicholai's feet, hands folded behind his back politely.

"Yes." Spencer nodded, "A whore."

The elder lifted himself from his chair slowly, grunting as he did, "Whores don't get to decide their fate. They live at the mercy of others. The money they are given really is just charity -- can't hardly be considered true, honest work." Spencer waddled to his liquor cabinet, sorting through the bottles of expensive, aged wines, searching for his favourite red.

"A whore has no _value_ because he has no _values_. Nothing to tie him to a culture, a people, a cause." Spencer continued, plucking a small, dusty bottle from his collection, and signalling to Sergei to come help him uncork it. The Russian immediately complied.

"Umbrella has been quite good to you." Spencer said, casting a glance over his shoulder at Nicholai, who was on the verge of falling, "You're well on your way to paying your debt. And now I give you the opportunity to cease your whorish ways and learn your place. Am I not kind, Sergei?"

"Yes, my Lord!" Sergei said, pouring Spencer a glass of his selected wine dutifully. 

" _Gnnnnh_!!" 

Suddenly, a horrific cramp shot through Nicholai's abdomen, causing the younger man to vocalise despite the pain of doing so. Warm liquid began to flood down his legs, dripping onto the floor beneath him obscenely.

Labour. He was going into labour.

Spencer rolled his greying eyes, watching the carpet beneath Nicholai's knees become soiled with the clear amniotic fluid, "Even now you disrespect me!"

"I am so sorry, Sir..." Sergei mewled softly, dipping his head in shame.

Nicholai was beginning to heave, bruised hands darting to clutch his stomach. 

It hurt. _Oh God_ , it hurt.

" _Nnnhmmmmm_!" He moaned involuntarily, throat sore and screaming with every noise he was compelled to make.

"Sergei..." Spencer waved his hand towards his wine bottle, silently instructing him. The Colonel immediately complied, snatching the bottle and striding towards Nicholai. He unceremoniously shoved the widest end into the younger man's gaping, leaking hole, prompting a squeal to shoot out of him.

"You'll keep your filthy cunt closed in my office, boy." Spencer drawled, "That's a very expensive heirloom carpet you're trying to drop your unholy spawn on. Worth more than your whole life."

The corporate patriarch smirked, "Surely you, of all people, understand the value of a dollar."

\--

Spencer decided Nicholai would be responsible for his own medical bills from now on. No more treatment until he earned the money to pay the bill associated with taking _valuable_ staff from the floor to _deal_ with him.

Though in the throes of an agonising labour, Nicholai was brought to the U.S.S barracks, and lain across one of the steel canteen tables, his head dipped off the edge. His legs were strapped together, and the plug of his hole was switched from the wine bottle to a solid, rounded casing of metal from a launcher kit.

Sergei used the loudspeaker to call the hoards of men from their dorms and the training field, standing atop another table, as if the added height were necessary.

"The treacherous whore needs your assistance, dear comrades!" He smiled, "He needs to pay his delivery bill. So we are offering him for your pleasure at a modest fee of $5.”

The creature inside of his transplanted womb thrashed angrily when it was denied its birth, and Nicholai couldn't do more but whimper and squirm, hands clutching his roiling belly in agony. Some of the U.S.S troops became fascinated with his horrified whimpers, and the rolling and jerking beneath the flesh of his tummy.

"Now _unfortunately_ Nicholai has decided he _wants_ to give birth today. Very inconvenient, I know." Sergei sighed, "Thus, we cannot allow access to his cunt, else he might try to push the spawn out without first paying his dues."

Some audible groans of disappointment echoed throughout the crowd.

"However!" Sergei clapped, "This inconvenience is reflected in the fee. You are welcome to have his mouth, his hands, his cock -- Use him however you want, within the limitations previously outlined.” 

Agents immediately began to pluck their wallets from their pockets and thrust wrinkled bills in Sergei’s direction.   
  
Cocks immediately found their way into and onto Nicholai’s body. Some of the soldiers waited patiently for a chance to dip into his throat, while others were content to push their erections against Nicholai’s heaving stomach. They were entertained with the novel experience of having the creature inside him kick out against its womb prison, inadvertently massaging the cocks rubbing against its mother’s gut.   
  
Sergei praised the imaginative studiousness of the soldiers who began to shove their rock-hard organs between Nicholai’s strapped thighs, using the plump slit as a makeshift cunt. 

Less than an hour passed before Sergei was approached by a familiar-looking agent, one whose appearance at the _event_ seemed to spark the curiosity of his comrades.

HUNK. Nicholai’s most well-known rival from the field. Even the executive board had often heard of how aggressive the two had gotten with each other during competing missions.

“How much does he need to spread his legs?” HUNK asked flatly, casting a thumb over his shoulder in a dismissive gesture towards Nicholai.

“$1200.” Sergei said, eyebrow cocking in amusement as he correctly predicted what was next, knowing the man would never be so charitable as to simply buy out Nicholai's relief. 

”I’ll give you that to let me fuck ‘im. Proper.”

—

The other Agents were temporarily disappointed when Sergei put a halt to accepting further payments, eyebrows curing in curiosity when the older man said there was something far more interesting about to take place. 

When HUNK mounted the table, mouths gaped with corners upturned, and eyes widened. Everyone clamoured to get a better view as the highly-decorated, venerated soldier began to unstrap Nicholai’s bound-together legs. So excited, the man was practically fumbling over the relatively simple buckles.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this, you huge piece of shit.” HUNK breathed, brown eyes flashing darkly as he stared down into Nicholai’s blank, cum-covered face, “No one deserves this more than you.”

HUNK cast the belts off, spreading Nicholai's numbed legs as wide as they would open. He licked his thin lips when he saw the plug, fluid gushing out around the rim, wondering if the infant Tyrant would spill out the moment he removed it. That would have been no fun at all.

Slowly, he twisted the metal casing free. It made a loud, heavy _**clank**_ as it was thrown to the floor. The drooling, swollen hole gaped and twitched, causing HUNK's nose to simultaneously crinkle in disgust while his eyes burned with desire, hands fumbling to free himself from his own fatigues.

"If you push, I'll slit your throat." HUNK said coldly, as though it were a decision Nicholai could consciously make in his state. As though the creature wasn't pressing at his womb and manufactured cervix, trying to force its own way out after a painful delay.

Nicholai gurgled when HUNK entered him, his gasp of pain impotently drowned out by excited cheers and applause from the onlookers. Many of the men had simply begun masturbating, primitively fisting their cocks as they watched on.

"How's it feel, Grim Reaper?" One of the soldiers shouted, voice laced with amusement.

"Like fucking a wet sewage drain." He thrusted, grunting despite his mockery, "This slut's so wide open I can barely feel a damn thing."

HUNK leaned down as the troops laughed, his abdomen pressing against Nicholai's belly as he drew himself closer to the other man's face, "You are basically a wet sewage drain, aren't cha' Nick?"

Nicholai began grimacing and sobbing from the pressure HUNK was putting on his stomach, his weak hands meekly pushing against him in a silent beg to back his body weight off. HUNK immediately noticed the detrimental impact the contact was having, and forced himself lower, harder. He rocked back and forth on the massive stomach, utterly amused by the reactions he was able to provoke. The gurgling scream Nicholai managed to belt out found its way through the noise in the room, but was only met with more rancorous festiveness from the others.

"Ah shit, I think I can feel that creature trynna' come out. Gross!" He scoffed, withdrawing quickly. As he did, a trail of precum-laced slime drooled from Nicholai's gaping hole, followed shortly by the crown of the massive Tyrant trying to escape his body.

"Hey, Vladimir!" HUNK called out, sitting back on his calves between Nicholai's legs, cock dripping indignantly, "I didn't even get to finish. I paid for a _proper_ fuck!"

"Of course, comrade. My word is my honour." The Colonel smirked, sauntering over to the table casually. He assessed the crown curiously, admiring how beautifully stretched Nicholai was around the massive head. "In normal circumstances, this would not be safe for the child..." Sergei sighed, rolling up one sleeve, "Ah, but this is a B.O.W, you see... They are crafted with _extraordinary_ resilience."

With that, he reached between Nicholai's legs and firmly pressed on the head, forcing the creature back into Nicholai's body. The crowd delighted in the perverse sight, sneering face in the shadows around the table watching Sergei's muscular forearm disappear into Nicholai's cunt as he shoved it deeper and deeper. Nicholai seemed to have passed out from the pain, eyes open but completely blank, not a single sound escaping him through the foam and drool spilling from the corners of his lips. Sergei withdrew his arm quickly, shaking off the excess slick that had seeped onto it.

"Please, comrade, continue!" He said invitingly, "You are the one paying his fee for this birth, after all. It would be unfair to let him do so until you've received your share of the bargain."

HUNK nodded with a smile, slipping closer to Nicholai's thoroughly-abused entrance once again, "Thanks, Colonel!" 

\--

"I think this has been more painful for me than it has for you, _Kolya_."

Sergei sighed deeply, taking a quick sip of his vodka. His eyes danced over the near-lifeless form at his feet, the Ivan Twins having retrieved Nicholai from his cell and dumped him before their Master at his command. 

"Truly. You have _no idea_ what I have been through these past few months." Sergei continued, shaking his head. "The stress, the fear, the shame. It was almost too much for me, dealing with your nonsense."

Sergei adjusted himself in the throne-like armchair he sat in, crossing his legs casually and taking another sip of his drink.

"I worked very, _**very**_ hard to convince our Lord to give you a second chance." The elder Russian nodded, speaking sternly, "He was pleased with the data on your child. I used that as an opportunity to get you a job."

A muscle in Nicholai's bruised, filthy thigh twitched.

"You will breed primaries for our new T-105 series. You will be compensated well, and I ensured only 70% of your pay will be deducted for keep! Isn't that wonderful?"

Sergei cocked his head and waited, staring down at Nicholai's body as though expecting an answer. He cocked his eyebrows in smug discontent when nothing came.

"You must learn to treat me with more respect, comrade." Sergei said flatly, "You have no idea how hard I work for you!"

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get this plotbunny out of my head and fired it off in a few hours before dinner. 
> 
> 100% CREDIT for the unsedated surgery/Sergei watching the surgery ideas go to the lovely Pistolrush, who was the first to use these concepts in their AMAZING stories.


End file.
